Free Grimm: The Chopping Block by John Passarella Page A

extra mug he’d made for Hank when pouring his own. Letting Hank walk on crutches while attempting to carry a cup of coffee back to his desk, qualified as partner abuse. “Unlike our cases.”
    “They’re too fresh to be
cold
cases,” Hank said, settling in and situating his crutches so they’d be close at hand but not a tripping hazard. “We need a new word.”
    “Chilly?” Nick suggested. “Infuriating? Headache-inducing?”
    “Lab results in?”
    “Guerra’s clean,” Nick said, then added, “In the legal sense.”
    “So not the bone killer.”
    “Probably not.”
    “On the plus side, he racked up enough charges to keep him out of circulation for a while,” Hank said. Softer, “That’s one angry Wesen.”
    “Still waiting on IDs on our victims,” Nick said. “No official COD or time of death.”
    “Something will turn up,” Hank said.
    Nick had a feeling the next thing that turned up would be a third victim.
    * * *
    Decker had told Monroe he would meet him at Portland Precision Pilates and, true to his word, he had already arrived by the time Monroe swung his VW Super Beetle into a parking space across the street from the studio. Monroe had harbored doubts his friend would show up.
Good start
, he thought. But then he noticed the unreformed Blutbad had disregarded Monroe’s advice to wear comfortable, non-restrictive clothing. He’d swapped the knit watch cap for a battered leather Confederate hat. A subtle message to Monroe that Decker was a rebel at heart? He still sported the black leather jacket, over a flannel shirt, ratty jeans and work boots.
    Easily removed, the hat, jacket and boots weren’t a problem, but Monroe had doubts about the flannel shirt and jeans. He worried that an early failure would discourage Decker from continuing down the reformed path. If Monroe planned to mentor Decker, he needed to model patience without downplaying the difficulty of achieving and maintaining a reformed lifestyle.
    With that in mind, Monroe had scheduled a beginner mat class at a studio. Seeing others make natural mistakes, learn from them and work toward proficiency, even at a basic level, should provide motivation to stay the course. In theory.
    Monroe climbed out of the car, slipped two coiled foam floor mats under his arm, and crossed the street, flashing an encouraging smile.
    “Hey, brother,” Decker said, pushing himself off the wall against which he’d been leaning to shake Monroe’s hand vigorously. “Ready and waiting.”
    “How did your ‘thing’ work out?”
    Decker furrowed his brow, shook his head, confused. “Thing?”
    “Your meet-up?” Monroe prompted. “At Shemanski Park Market?”
    “Oh—oh, that,” Decker said, chuckling. “Not gonna lie to you, brother. Could have gone better. Rough night, but long as you hit more than you miss, you count yourself lucky, right?”
    “That’s a healthy attitude,” Monroe said, but worried that Decker meant “hit” in a violent context. How well did he really know the man? “Plenty of fish in the sea.”
    “That there are,” Decker said. “Now, we gonna do this or what?”
    “That’s the plan,” Monroe said, trying to sound more positive than he felt. Sometimes theory and practice existed worlds apart. “I brought an extra mat.”
    Decker stared at the coiled mat Monroe extended to him.
    “This for nappy time or something?” he asked.
    “Hands and knees on a hardwood floor,” Monroe said. “You know, after a while you’ll appreciate a little cushion.”
    “Oh. I get it,” Decker said with the hint of a smirk. “Soft, right?”
    Monroe paused, waiting for Decker to finish the thought.
    Suddenly the taller man burst out laughing and clapped Monroe on the shoulder.
    “Holy hell, brother! I’m jerking your chain,” Decker said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You should’ve seen your face, dude. Never would’ve known you were reformed.”
    “This is serious,” Monroe said.
    “As a heart attack,” Decker